The View from the Afternoon
by selanfene
Summary: Tonight there'll be some love / Tonight there'll be a ruckus yeah / Regardless of what's gone before. AU--'the best days of their lives' AKA high school . SLASH. M for language, drugs/alcohol, and sex.
1. I Know You

**Disclaimer: **You know, I'm _really _amazed that all you bright kids (-cough-) out there haven't figured out by now that I DON'T OWN NEWSIES. None of us lowly fanfiction writers do. If we did, would we really be writing _fanfiction _about it? I also don't own the song 'I Know You' by Sloan. Or the song 'The View from the Afternoon' by Arctic Monkeys.

**Chapter One – I Know You**

"You've GOT to be shittin' me," Spot yelped. "You _are_ shittin' me, right, Jacky?"

Spot and his two best friends, Jack and Racetrack, climbed the stairs to the top floor of the dormitory, lugging their work for the day with them.

"'Fraid not, Spot," Jack replied dryly. "Apparently I've got a talent."

"But come _on_, Jack—_CHOIR_?!" Spot unlocked the door to the room he shared with Jack. "Race, you can bum here if you don't wanna deal with that Delancey ass. Anyway, Jack, that's SO GAY."

Racetrack dropped his bookbag on the floor and pointed out, "Hey, I'm in choir, too."

"Spot, I _am_ gay. Come to think of it, you are too. Maybe you should join."

"Right, Jack. When hell freezes over, I'll consider it."

Spot sat on his bed, leaning against the wall moaning under his breath about, "CHOIR, of all things!"

Racetrack, who was sharing Spot's bed while Jack lay on his drinking something (probably alcoholic) out of an unlabeled glass bottle, said, "Spot, d'you even care that _I'm _in choir?"

"No, I don't," Spot grunted.

Jack explained, "Things don't ruin _your _reputation, Race. Everybody thinks your old man's in the mafia, so you can do whatever the hell you want and nobody's gonna think any less of you."

Racetrack laughed. "People're still hanging on to that? Don't they realize that there's no way a mafia man would be allowed to marry an Irish woman?"

"ANYWAY," Spot cut in, "Choir is so gay you may as well change your name to MUSH."

Jack snorted.

**---**

The girl slammed on the brakes at a stoplight. "David, you realize I got _expelled_, right? That means we're _both _leaving and going to that dumb boarding school Mama wants us at. Aren't you at least a little pissed?"

David shook his head. "Sarah, I have no friends there, remember?"

"Oh, yeah..."

Sometimes David wondered if she was completely stupid... then he remembered all the shit she'd pulled at their old school and gotten away with it, and he realized his sister was probably a fucking genius.

"Um, so, Mama said we're starting our new school tomorrow already."

"Alright."

**---**

Bumlets sniffed as he wiped the back of his hand across his brow, careful not to snag his goggles on his expensive Armani sweater. "WHY are we doing this?" he asked the other four members of his elitist group of friends.

Next to him, Dutchy, the most laid-back of the five, said, "We need to pass. What I wanna know is why you're wearing goggles to dissect a frog."

Pie Eater, Snoddy, and Swifty all looked at Bumlets expectantly.

"Well, you can never be too sure."

After their frog dissection, Bumlets stalked up to his dorm with Pie Eater, Snoddy, and Swifty in tow. Dutchy had opted out to go back to his own room, claiming a headache.

"Bet he's just decided to ditch us for that loser boyfriend of his, Specs," Yawned Snoddy from Swifty's bed.

"They are _so _disgusting," Bumlets said as he removed a vodka from his dresser.

---

"Now be totally honest with me—does this shirt scream gay or does this shirt scream gay?"

"Uh, Snitch—anything on you screams gay. Especially anythings of the pale yellow variety," Blink pointed out nonchalantly, acting as if he didn't have his hand down his boyfriend's pants.

"Yeah," added Mush, "You're pretty much the epitome of gay."

With a contemptuous snort, Snitch replied, "Says the gayest guy on earth."

Skittery tugged on Snitch's shirt hem, pulling him down on his lap. "Well _I _think you look fabulous," he said, kissing Snitch lightly.

---

"Sarah, dear, it's quite a drive, so perhaps you should start tonight," Esther Jacobs suggested over dinner.

David took a sip of milk and asked, "Where are we _going_?"

"It's just a nice boarding school in New York City..."

"Mama," Sarah said, "Didn't you say we'd NEVER go back to New York City?"

Their mother sniffed. "That seemed best... at the time... but Mayer and I now think it would be most beneficial for you two to re-experience the atmosphere and maybe..." Esther broke off, looking at her husband.

"It's a nice school, kids, let's leave it at that."

"Um... what part of New York City?" Sarah sat down her spoon, narrowing her eyes at her parents. They had moved to Wisconsin after David's eleventh birthdya when his group of inseperable friends nearly got David killed (by accident, of cours), and vowed never to return.

"Ah... Manhattan," their mother said.

Both David's and Sarah's eyes widened.

---

Dutchy let himself into his room and collapsed on his bed, immediately more at home among the pot stink and messy sheets that was the room he shared with his boyfriend. Unfortunately, Specs was still out somewhere, so he lit up a joint and murmured to himself, "Welcome home..."

---

The atmosphere of Snitch's dorm was of subdued sexuality—both couples were making out, but neither was going any further, although they wanted to.

If anyone had asked Snitch why, he'd have said, "Fucked if I know."

Then Skittery'd add, "And fucked if you don't," and happily obliged.

But as it was, they just all sat on the beds kissing.

---

That night, Racetrack fell asleep in Spot's bed, which was not an unusual occurrence. Consequently, he was the first to wake up in the morning so he could run over to his room and grab a new set of clothing before breakfast. However, all thoughts to that effect deserted him once he got out in the hall.

Standing in the middle of the hall, surrounded by suitcases and glaring at the packet of paper in his hand, was a _new kid._

Race ran back into Jack and Spot's room and woke them yelling, "NEW KID!"

The two got out of bed and, Spot in the nude (because that's how he slept) and Jack in just his boxers, went down the halls waking everybody and informing them of the situation.

Meanwhile, Racetrack strode over to the new kid and asked, "What's your name?"

"David," he replied, holding out a hand. "David Jacobs."

Race didn't take the hand—he was too busy staring at the boy in front of him. "_Mouth?_" he asked incredulously.

David's head jerked up from his packet. He blinked at Race and then asked in a hushed voice, "_Racetrack?!"_

"The very same. GUYS, THE NEW KID'S MOUTH!"

David didn't remember much from the next half hour or so, but he knew he met most of the kids his age from his childhood group of friends.

"This is weird," he said after clapping his old friend Jack into a hug. "Way too weird."

**A/N: Yeahh... I honestly don't know what direction this fic is going in, but I'm hoping it turns out well. Hope you enjoyed... more coming soon. By the way, the fic's title is kind of random.**

**I apologize for all the typos in the first version of this chapter and the next. I ironed them out and re-upped it.**


	2. Set In Motion

**Disclaimer: **Don't own Newsies or the Sloan song 'Set in Motion'. Or Ibuprofen. Or McDonald's or Fanta. Or AIM.

**Chapter 2 – Set In Motion**

Bumlets woke the next morning, Saturday, at a little after noon. He would have slept longer, but Swifty crawled into his bed and started randomly pecking his face.

With a groan, Bumlets put a hand to his forehead. He couldn't remember last night and he felt like he was going to die.

Before he could even ask, Swifty answered, "We got _so _smashed last night. Just you and me, but Snoddy and Pie Eater were here. Don't worry, we weren't outed."

"Why the hell aren't you hung over?" Bumlets dug in the drawer of his bedside table and took out an industrial-sized bottle of Ibuprofen, which he dry-swallowed a handful of.

"You know I don't get hung over, babe," Swifty murmered into Bumlets' shoulder. Then, popping up, he said, "Oh, hey, there's a new kid. I let you sleep through meeting him, though. But it's no biggie... guess who he is?" 

Bumlets was in no mood for guessing games. "I dunno, the mayor?"

"David. Remember him?" 

"Fucked if I don't," Bumlets said, his surprise showing through his voice.

Suddenly there was a brisk knock at their door. Swifty leapt out of Bumlets' bed as if he'd been stung and called, "Yeah?"

"It's us."

Swifty opened the door to Snoddy and Pie Eater, both carrying an armful of hangover remedies. "We knew Bumlets'd need them," Pie Eater explained as they dropped them off on Swifty's bed.

"That reminds me, where's Dutchy?"

When neither visitor answered, Swifty pulled out his cell phone and hit Speed Dial 4. A moment later, he said into the phone, "Hey... Dutchy?... Oh... Can I talk to him?... He's still asleep? Why? He's usually an early riser... A 'hard night'? Is he hung over too? Because we've got stuff for it here... What d'you mean, 'sort of'?... Fine, fine, just tell him to come find us, probably in my room since Bumlets is in no shape to leave, once he's up... Yeah... Bye."

Turning back to Snoddy and Pie Eater, Swifty growled, "WHAT does Dutchy see in that piece of shit?"

---

David fumbled with his key to his room and listened to Jake, his roomie and one of his childhood friends, talk a mile a minute about everything that had happened to him since David moved to Wisconsin.

"So anyway, my dad—you remember Dad, right?—got shipped out to some mental hospital in Australia a few years ago, which was pretty fun; I got to go to Sydney, Australia... 'Course, the bin Dad's in isn't IN Sydney, it's an hour or so's drive away, but Ma and I stayed in Sydney and ate ice cream and that while they got him all settled. He sent a letter last month. 'Parently they're thinking of letting him back into the real world. Boy, I'm just glad I won't be there... You remember how he treated me. Black and blue all the time, and God knows why. Think I heard them say something about bipolar, but then I remember Ma saying they were wrong, so I have no idea..."

By now, David was into the room and had set his suitcases by the bed on the side of the room that was notably empty and unpersonalized.

"...Oh, and I hope you don't mind I got the side by the door. So, as I was saying, Ma gave up her office job after that, God knows why. Now she's a part-time dentist and a pimp. I got laid by one of her whores once, when I was 15, for free cos I was family. Nice benefits, I think. I had this dorm to myself before, you know. Not that I mind sharing—it'll just be something to get used to. I haven't had a roommate since freshman year—I roomed with Skittery. Oh, _that _was an experience. He's gay, y'know? So he was just coming to terms with it and realizing it and figuring it out and all that... he came home with _so _many boys and girls that year, it's a wonder he don't got every STD in the book. And he cried a lot... he was a very high-maitenence roomie. You know how he is normally, now imagine him applying that to the possibility of being gay. Not to say it was bad, but it was definitely an experience. That was before he went on meds, too. Mush and Blink were around a lot, helping him out and stuff. It was quite crowded. Anyway, I was supposed to have a roommate last year, some cat called Cooper, but he got testicular cancer—or was it AIDS?—and couldn't come, so I got a single..."

David had finished making his bed and was now beginning to put his clothes away.

"...And I don't know how I got it this year... actually, I think they expected you and were holdin' it for you. Well, enough about rooms, I guess you'll be wanting the lowdown on everybody?"

Before David could so much as open his mouth to answer, Jake went on:

"Or, actually, there's plenty of time for that later. Right now you should fill out the survey you got in the office. I'm an office aide, y'know. Basically I just spend 4th block in the office doing whatever I want... sometimes there's actual work, but usually Debbie—you probably got her... the one with the rack?—she takes care of it all and I can just do homework or use the computer or whatever... nobody really cares as long as I'm not slacking off when there actually is work to do. Oh, and don't worry about classes here. Colleges all think it's some sort of miracle school or something, but really, half our classes are throwaways... They gave you a schedule yet? Ah, good... English first block, History second, German third... Lunch, Choir 4A, Gym 4B... We don't have anything together, shame, but you've got good people in all your classes, so that's good. Oh! I got a girlfriend since I saw you last. Three of them, actually... The first two didn't last long, but I got all the way to third base with the last one—oh, done?"

David handed his survey to Jake.

**1. What is your full name? What nickname would you like if Jack doesn't give you one? **David Arthur Jacobs. I've already been nicknamed the Walking Mouth... just David's fine, though.

**2. What is your favorite color? **Uh... I like gray.

**3. What is your sexual orientation? **Straight.

**4. How old are you? **Seventeen.

**5. Why are you here? **Um, my parents wanted me to get a really good education, and they think my sister needs a boarding school because she's some kind of psychotic genius and did a lot of bad shit at our old schools.

**6. Do you have any musical talent? **Not really. My mama thinks I can sing, so she signed me up for choir, but my papa says I sound like a strangled cat.

**7. What is your ethnicity? **Polish...?

**8. Who was the last person you made out with? **Uh... nobody.

**9. Do you masturbate? **That's a pretty personal question...

**10. Have you ever ridden a camel? **No.

---

"That was _really _weird," Jack said for the umpteenth time since they'd discovered David was now going to school with them.

"Yeah, Jacky," Spot replied impatiently. The two were sitting in the back seat of Racetrack's car in the local McDonald's parking lot, waiting for the Irish-Italian to come back with a coffee for himself, an apple pie for Spot, and a Fanta for Jack.

Jack lit up a cigarette and took a long drag, staring out the window and mumbling about how "that was _so fucking weird_."

"You know I hate those, Jack," Spot complained, scooting as far from Jack as he could and rolling down the window.

"Suck it up. Be a man. Rub some dirt in it," Jack said through a mouthful of smoke.

"And Race'll kill you if his car smells like cigs."

"...Point." Jack licked his fingers and put out his cigarette between them, then tossed it out the window by Spot's head.

"And don't you dare think you're gettin' a kiss outa me now."

"Aww, not even if I beg?"

---

When Mush and Blink finally stopped their make out session (they had timed it—it was two hours and 13.45324 minutes), they each returned to their respective beds.

Mush rolled over on his bed and signed into AIM on his laptop. Seeing that Kid Blink was also online, he clicked his boyfriend's name and started a conversation.

**MyAbsRLikeHeaven: **Blinkers?

**.PatchworkBoy.: **Mushlies.

**MyAbsRLikeHeaven: **Can you believe that DAVE'S the new kid? It's like WHOAAA BLAST FROM THE PAST!

**.PatchworkBoy.: **I know

**MyAbsRLikeHeaven: **It's kind of awesome, though. I missed the kid. It's like... remember last Christmas when you dressed up in nothing but a paperchain wrapped erotically around your body and did a sexy dance with my mini Christmas tree, then we had sex on the couch?

**.PatchworkBoy.: **How could I forget?

**MyAbsRLikeHeaven: **It's like that awesome, but not, because Davey being the new kid brings me no sex.

**.PatchworkBoy.: **It could...

**MyAbsRLikeHeaven: **You offering?

**.PatchworkBoy.: **Always.

**MyAbsRLikeHeaven: **You naughty boy. But I'm actually not horny right now, I'm sorry.

**.PatchworkBoy.: **Aww :-[

**MyAbsRLikeHeaven: **I actually have something I wanted to ask you.

**.PatchworkBoy.: **Uh-oh

**MyAbsRLikeHeaven: **No, it's nothing bad. Just... what _happened _after David left? Why don't we all just get along anymore?

**.PatchworkBoy.: **idk...

**MyAbsRLikeHeaven: **And remember how close Jack and David were as kids? And how now Jack's gay... Do you think they might, y'know, start going out?

**.PatchworkBoy.: **idk... David seems pretty straight to me. And things change—maybe he just won't get along with any of us anymore. Maybe Wisconsin changed him.

**MyAbsRLikeHeaven: **Aw, now I'm all sad.

**.PatchworkBoy.: **I could fix that...

**MyAbsRLikeHeaven: **But I said I'm not horny.

**.PatchworkBoy.: **We could just make out.

**MyAbsRLikeHeaven: **Vixen.

**.PatchworkBoy.: **Hey, before I come over there and MAKE you horny, can I ask a question, too?

**MyAbsRLikeHeaven: **Shoot.

**.PatchworkBoy.: **Why are we talking on AIM? We're roommates and we're both home, lying on our beds like fatsos.

**MyAbsRLikeHeaven: **Uh... idk... you're pretty smart for a vixen. Now get over here and make out with me.

**.PatchworkBoy.: **Consider it done.

**MyAbsRLikeHeaven **is Away.

**.PatchworkBoy. **is Away.

--30 Minutes Later—

**MyAbsRLikeHeaven: **God, I forgot how good a kisser you are.

**.PatchworkBoy.: **You mean in the space of the ten minutes between that kiss and the one before it?

**MyAbsRLikeHeaven: **I was distracted. Thinking about David. And possibly Jack. Maybe having sex.

**.PatchworkBoy.: **That explains why you're not horny.

**MyAbsRLikeHeaven: **Get over here, you foxy... vixeny... person-thing...

**.PatchworkBoy. **is Offline.

**MyAbsRLikeHeaven **is Offline.

**A/N: If anyone's wondering about the Spot/Jack earlier this chapter, they're not a couple and they never will be. They're just two horny, gay teenagers looking for some kicks.**

**Again, sorry about the typos. I ironed them out and re-upped it.**

**What to look forward to in the next chapter? I don't really know yet, but it'll **_**probably **_**include Spot's Prince Albert piercing and maybe even what they did on David's birthday that almost got him killed.**


	3. Everybody Wants You

**Disclaimer: **No ownage of Newsies of the Sloan song 'Everybody Wants You'. Please don't sue—I'm so poor I couldn't even afford Christmas presents for my friends.

**Chapter 3 – Everybody Wants You**

Mush groaned, glaring at the half-sheet of paper in his hand. Their guidance counsilor had decided to have them each answer a 'get to know you' question in front of the class in light of David's arrival. Mush's read, "Tell about your favorite movie." It figured he'd get something boring.

"Alright, everybody, settle down! We're going in alphabetical order, so we'll begin with Mr. Ballatt, please."

Kid Blink stood and strolled to the front of the room. "My topic is, 'Who is the most important person in your life?' I think I'd have to say my boyfriend, Mush, because he gives _great _head." With that, Blink marched back to his seat.

Mrs. Keely, the councilor, cleared her throat and called, "Mr. Conté?"

Bumlets leapt up and walked to the front of the room with his paper clutched in a hand. Clearing his throat, he read aloud, "'What is your life's ambition?' I plan to start up a business somewhere and make lots of money."

David was next. "My topic's a little ironic," he began, "since it asks for a description of my best and worst birthday. My worst would have to be my 11th birthday—you guys were all there. Remember?"

Blink yelled, "Yeah, yeah! We were playing Crims & Cops and you jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge because we were beating you with our cop-sticks!"

"Only you couldn't swim," Mush added.

"Oh, yeah—and the guy who saved you wasn't sad that you almost died, just pissed because you hurt his river or something," Skittery said, recalling the experience with a grin on his face.

David continued, "Yeah, that's why we left. My best was probably my 14th, simply because nothing bad happened."

Next was Dutchy. "I'm supposed to tell about my parents," he said bitterly. "Of all the people in this grade with fucked-up parents, the one with NORMAL ones gets it. There's nothing to tell—uh... they're from Holland? There's nothing weird about them."

After Dutchy, Jack went. Mush had to admit he wasn't all that interested in the answers—he already knew plenty about the other boys, thank you very much. So Mush zoned out until he heard his name called. Even then, he just got up, said something about the musical RENT, and sat back down.

When it was Spot's turn, he read, "'Tell us about your best Christmas.'" Then with a smirk, he said, "I think I'd have to say last Christmas when I was dating Jason—you guys remember Jason? Mush should."

Mush nodded. "I remember. He pierced my nipples."

"Yeah. So anyway, I got up and went out to the tree and Jason was waiting for me. He told me to drop my pants. Naturally, I did, and he—"

"Okay, I think that's quite enough, Mr. Conlon," Mrs. Keely interrupted.

Spot held up a hand. "No, no, it's not sex, really."

"Well... go on, then, I guess."

So Spot continued. "Anyway, he took out his piercing stuff and gave me a Prince Albert."

Racetrack leapt up. "You have a _Prince Albert?!_"

"Yeah."

Jack licked his lips. "That's so fucking hot. Spot, can I see?"

Spot smirked. "Does this mean I get a blowjob?"

"As long as I can see your PA."

"You've already seen it."

"As long as I can see it _again_, then! It just gets hotter every time."

"Right on!"

Jack and Spot walked out. Out of the corner of his eye, Mush noticed David looking sort of a mix of annoyed, stricken, pleased, and interested.

---

Jack and Spot lay on Spot's bed, both in a hazy, euphoric state only experienced after an amazing orgasm. Spot's chest was still heaving and Jack's entire body shimmered from a thin sheen of sweat, smeared on his pecs from Spot's flailing, groping hands. They'd gone quite a bit farther than the simple blowjob they'd been expecting, but neither one was complaining.

Lethargically, Jack flopped on arm over his forehead, wiping the sweat from it. Turning onto his side, he eyed Spot's body.

The two lay in silence for a good five minutes before Jack lifted himself up on one elbow.

"Um, Spot? D'you think we should, y'know... date?"

"No."

Jack frowned. "Oh."

The silence stretched until Jack began again.

"Because I've kind of been thinking... maybe we should?"

Spot didn't move. "Why?"

"Well... I dunno, I mean, it seems like we end up hooking up a LOT—"

"I'm a gay, horny teenage boy. You're a gay, horny teenage boy. It's natural."

Feeling discouraged but determined, Jack continued, "And, um, I dunno... I think I might be kind of... getting _feelings _for you..."

Silence.

"Jack, do you have a vagina?"

"Wha—_no_!"

"You're acting like it."

"I'm just saying—"

"I like no-strings-attached sex, okay Jack? Hooking up with friends is what I _do_. Liking friends is _not_."

"Yeah, I guess," Jack mumbled, turning his back to Spot. "It was stupid of me to even..." He blinked hard. His eyes burned.

---

"Okay, guys," Blink said, clapping his hands together in a down-to-business manner at lunch. "It's up to us to find out if David's gay. Because he and Jack HAVE to hook up."

"Why?" Skittery asked.

"They'd be so _cute_ together!"

Snitch asked, "What about Spot?" 

"If he's anything like he used to be, they're not dating anyway, so it doesn't matter."

"If he's anything like he used to be, he won't like having his boy toy taken away from him."

Blink shrugged and Mush jabbed a finger at Snitch. "Point."

"So anyway, I figure, who better for the job than a team of four gays?"

"I'm bi," corrected Skittery.

With an irritated glance, Blink ammended, "A team of three gays and a halfie. Here's how it's gonna happen—Snitch, you're on recording responses, okay? You just write how he responds to certain pre-recorded scenarios and questions and so on. We'll congregate at some point to contemplate the results, tally them up, and come up with a verdict."

Skittery turned to Mush. "Your boyfriend's scary when he's planning something."

"I know, isn't it hot?"

Blink continued as if neither boy had opened his mouth. "Phase One begins at dinner tonight."

---

David's entire morning had been taken up by the silly introduction ceremony—as if he didn't already know these boys—in which he had learned very little beyond:

Mush liked RENT, which David also liked.

Jack and Spot were both at LEAST bi, if not gay. And probably dating. Or just fucking with him, no pun intended. 

Spot had his penis pierced. 

Specs had once had a wet dream about Bigfoot.

Still, he had to get through this afternoon's classes and free period from four to six before dinner. At lunch, Kid Blink had invicted him to sit by them at dinner.

First was choir—he was sitting between Racetrack and Skittery, directly behind his sister, soloing a 3-octave scale so the teacher could get a better idea of his range. So far, this class wasn't David's favorite.

Apparently the chorus was learning a large selection of music that David had never heard of. Immediately David got a formidable feeling—how the hell could the expect him to learn all this music as well as everyone else when they had a three-month head start?!

Gym was slightly less alarming, although no less unpleasant. The class was in the middle of a wrestling unit. David hated wrestling with a passion. He was matched with Spot for the whole class, who appeared to love it. No words were exchanged, Spot just kicked David's ass repeatedly and with very little struggle... _all _45 minutes of class. David couldn't WAIT for the class to end, and when it finally did, he jumpted into his normal clothes and bolted.

---

Sarah groaned, pressing her forehead against her door. "I can't believe this!"

It was her first day and already she'd lost her key. What's more, she'd been informed at registration that they were never reissued keys.

A voice behind her asked, "What's wrong? Did you lose your key?"

Sarah turned. The boy was raising his eyebrows and grinning. "Yeah," she said, fully ready to kick his ass if he started mocking her.

Instead he pulled a thin wire from his pocket and stuck it in the lock. It took about five seconds of jiggling and the door popped open. "They're so easy to jimmy it's not even funny. Bring a wire everywhere for the rest of the year. I don't have a key either." He moved aside to let Sarah through. "I'm Itey."

Sarah grabbed him by the upper arms and let her head drop on his chest. "Thank you so much..."

---

When dinner came, Blink, Mush, and Skittery were talking in hushed voices. Snitch was flipping through a notebook labeled 'Phase One'. David sat down. He had a plate of pizza and an orange juice. Mush gave Snitch a meaningful glance.

"Oh, David—I've got a question." Blink shoved a forkful of beans into his mouth. "Did you have any girlfriends in Wisconsin?"

"No...?"

This time Mush spoke up. "What color is your shirt?"

David didn't even have to look. "Azure with lavender pinstripes."

Everyone stared at him for a minute until Skittery said, "Wow."

Snitch scribbled something on a page and, flipping to the next, asked, "David, what brand is it?"

"Prada."

Blink's eyes popped open. "Holy _shit_! How much did it cost? You've gotta be fucking LOADED!"

"I got it for Christmas from my loaded _grandmother_. She's really into designer fashion and made me memorize the designers, cuts, and colors of everything she bought me that year. She's crazy. Believe me—left to my own devices, I wouldn't know Prada from a Wal-mart off-brand or azure from maize."

Snitch made some notes in his notebook. Mush and Blink exchanged a meaningful look, and Skittery shoved a forkful of green beans in his mouth.

"Did you ever play with Barbies as a kid?"

"My sister made me play with hers. She threatened to put makeup on me if I didn't—in her words, make me 'the prettiest little brother in the world'. And she didn't even know how to apply it yet."

"Who was your best friend in Wisconisn?"

"I didn't really have a best friend... I was kind of a loner. But I guess a girl named Jessica—we were pretty close. She let me borrow a bra when I was a girl for Halloween. She had a nice rack—36Ds."

"Did people make fun of you in Wisconsin?" Snitch glanced up from his notebook just long enough to address David.

"Oh yeah—people called me a nerd, dork, geek, noob, faggot, fairy, Bardhead, etc..."

"Bardhead?"

"Yeah. That's what people called theatre geeks there."

"Ah. Who wrote 'I Touch Myself'?"

"The Devynils, although Jack Off Jill did a great cover of it."

"What're some Madonna songs you know?"

"I only know 'Like A Virgin'..."

"What's your stand on gay rights?"

"I'm for them, for sure."

"Fabulous!"

---

Bumlets ran a hand through his hair. He and Swifty were working on their homework together while Snoddy and Pie Eater were—Bumlets furrowed his brow. He didn't know where they were. Shaking his head, Bumlets went back to his Shakespearean Lit homework.

---

Dutchy and Specs sat back on Specs's bed, leaning on the wall and watching Moulin Rouge on Dutchy's mini-TV. The air was thick with smoke that stunk strongly of weed, and their eyes were red and their pupils dilated. Spec's favorite pipe lay on the bed, and a open bag next to it. For the third night in a row, Dutchy enjoyed himself. For the third night in a row, late at night when he had come down, Dutchy wondered if he'd ever be able to kick the habit.

---

Snoddy's thigh was slick with blood. With a kleenex, he sponged away as much as he could. As more blood bubbled up, he looked at the three deep slashes criss-crossing over the pink or pearly white scars decorating his legs. Dropping his pocketknife to the floor, he let his face flush and his eyes sting. A few tears leaked out and he made no move to wipe them away. He'd promised himself so many times—_This is the last time. I'll never do it again. _Why couldn't he just stick to that?

---

Pie Eater pulled his pants back on. He was still breathing hard and his face was covered in sweat, beading up and running down into his eyes.

Next to him, Racetrack was yanking his sweatshirt back over his head. The two dressed in silence. Then, Pie Eater spoke.

"Good job, today, Racetrack. Seems like nobody can outrun you."

Racetrack shrugged. "Everybody's good at something, and I'm good at running. Thanks, though. You didn't do half bad yourself."

Pie Eater picked up his bag. Track was his one hobby that Bumlets, Swifty, and Snoddy disapproved of. They thought it meant he mixed too much with the 'lesser' population of the school. Dutchy, of course, didn't give a shit, and, for once, Pie Eater was tempted to side with him.

As much as he knew Dutchy as a pothead (a fact that Dutchy knew he knew, and both very carefully kept from Bumlets and the others) and thought he was too laid-back and open, Pie Eater was starting to feel himself siding with Dutchy more and more. Honestly, at this point, Pie Eater often thought that the only reason he put up with Bumlets' bigotry was the enormous, inexplicable _crush _he'd developed.

---

"Okay," Blink said, clapping his hands together. He, Mush, Skittery, and Snitch sat around the Phase One notebook on Skittery's bed. They had a small whiteboard with two columns drawn on it labeled 'GAY' and 'STRAIGHT'. There was also an enormous bag of barbecue chips between Snitch and Skittery. "We'll discuss the answers David gave and we'll score them into gay points and straight points."

For the first question—the girlfriend one—Blink marked a tally beneath 'GAY'.

"David could identify his shirt as azure and lavender—AND he knew it was Prada. That's gotta be worth at least two gay points," Skittery said, licking orange off his fingers from the chips.

"Yeah," Mush responded, "But he said it was his grandmother's fault. He said he wouldn't know anything about it if it weren't for her."

"So... one gay point for knowing and one straight point for it being his gran's fault?"

"Alright."

Blink spoke up after marking down the two tallies. "He played with his sister's Barbies, which is pretty gay."

Holding up a finger, Skittery added, "But only at the threat of makeup, which is very straight indeed."

"Point," Blink conceded, "But he said it in a way that implied that if Sarah actually knew what she was doing with her makeup he'd have been cool with it."

"One straight, one gay?"

"Word," Snitch said.

Everybody stopped for a moment and stared at him.

"NEVER try to be cool again," Mush said before moving on to, "His best friend was a girl, but he said he liked her boobs."

"Again, one of each."

"But he was called a fag in Wisconsin, so one gay."

"He only knew one Madonna song, so we'll give him a straight."

"But he seemed well-versed in 'I Touch Myself', so we can award him another gay."

"And he's for gay rights, so—"

"Oh, come on, that's a really dumb question. Even straight people can be for gay rights. Who wrote that one, anyway?"

"You did."

"Shut up."

Blink interrupted the quarrel by announcing, "It's six to four—things are looking good for Jack, but it's not over yet!"

---

That night, David had a dream. Jack and he were in bed... together... completely naked... covered in sweat... and he was going to come soon... and—

"Get _up_, David!" Jake shook David's shoulder roughly and yanked the covers off. "Ah..." his eyes traveled down to David's crotch and he blushed. Averting his eyes, he said, "I'll... you can have the bathroom first if you want to... take care of that..."

David glanced down. The front of his pajama pants was tenting. He blushed as well and rushed off to the bathroom.

**A/N: Longest chapter of this fic so far. It took me forever to finish because I kind of deserted it for a little while... I've been on a HUGE RENT/Anthony Rapp (mostly the latter) kick lately. I haven't written any RENT fanfic either, but I've been like "OMGRZ ANTHONYYYYYYY!" 24/7. Reread his memoir ****Without You****, watched Adventures in Babysitting, a movie he was in when he was like... 16 or something. So I haven't really been in the mood for Newsies, just ANTHONY ANTHONY ANTHONY! I love him tons. So Sunday I buckled down and finished it. Then I had to put it through my beta, and now, finally, I'm putting it up. **

**I bet you perverts thought the part with Pie Eater and Racetrack was sex at first... you sick bastards! Pie Eater and Racetrack?! NEVER! **

**I loved writing the part with Jack asking Spot out... it was so cute! **

**Reviews make me feel loveded... please?! Sorry to beg... but I feel like I really want feedback on this chapter. It was superlong and not as humerous as I expected it to be... **

**Okay, so... I'll stop babbling now and just... go. Because this Author's Note is getting ridiculous.**


	4. Gimme Some Lovin'

**Disclaimer: No ownage, as per usual.**

**Chapter 4 – Gimme Some Lovin'**

Sarah swore and dropped the card back onto the pile she'd gotten it from.

"Watcha doing?"

Tilting her head back to address the familiar voice above her head, Sarah saw a smiling Itey looking down at her. "Playing solitaire. What are _you _doing? Isn't this, like, a seperate dorm for girls?"

Itey laughed. "Nah, we don't have enough girls here for them to bother with a whole separate dorm for them. But that aside, what's a girl like you doing playing solitaire all by her lonesome on a night like this?"

"What's a girl like me?" 

"Pretty."

Sarah narrowed her eyes. "And what's a night like this?" 

"Friday."

"Yeah, and how old are you?" 

"I'm a sophomore," Itey said. He sat on the arm of Sarah's chair and grinned. Then he reached out and took her hand.

"And _I'm _a senior. Too old for you," she replied witheringly. She took her hand back. "Try my brother. He's more your age."

"He's a junior."

"Which is more your age than a senior. Now go away. I've got a boyfriend in Wisconsin, anyway."

"Long-distance relationships never work out," Itey said hopefully.

Sarah snapped, "This one will." Then, allowing a hint of pride to color her voice, she added, "We're gonna get married when I graduate from college."

Itey paused, then said, "Well, I wasn't necessarily asking to be your boyfriend..."

"Oh, yeah?"

"...Well, maybe I was a _little _bit."

Sarah watched Itey walk away, then called, "Hey—what's your _real _name?"

"Nick Lopez."

---

A frazzled-looking employee stood behind a tall counter, piling dishes from the dishwasher into a cabinet near the cash register. Her frizzy red hair hid her face—Racetrack didn't think that was very sanitary. The café was mostly empty; apart from him, there was a handsome man reading a newspaper in the corner, an old woman sipping a tea and babbling quietly at her lapdog, and a college-age couple kissing near the window. The glass door swung open occasionally to admit someone new, but mostly it was just a quiet, cozy place for Race to drink his coffee and finish has pre-cal homework before heading off to the off-campus party at Bumlets's parents' house.

Normally Racetrack wouldn't be caught dead with Bumlets, but this was different—his parents were in Rome for a week, and it was really Bumlets's younger brother's party, and there was probably going to be lots of expensive booze. Plus Spot and Jack had begged him to go—the whole school was invited.

_Beep_.

Racetrack glanced at his phone, which proclaimed **1 NEW TEXT MESSAGE. **He flipped it open and read:

**FR: **726-8233

_Jack_, Race thought. Pressing the down arrow, he read:

**Where r u? ur comin 2 the party bums, rite? SANTA FE**

Rolling his eyes, Race hit 'reply' and typed:

**I'm away from u n spot, doing my precal. Yeah, I'll be there. 9:00, right?**

He barely had time to sip down the last dregs of his coffee and hail the waitress for another before his phone beeped again.

**FR: **726-8233

**No it starts 9, so meet me n spot the subway station by that dumb café u go 2 all the time 9.30 SANTA FE**

Race didn't even bother to reply. The clock by the counter read 7:30, so he figured he had just enough time to finish his precal, drop it and his car off at the school, and make itback to the station down the street by 9:30. He thought, _Maybe I oughta eat some dinner before the party, _but quickly followed it with, _Nah, screw that—an empty stomach makes for a quicker drunk_.

---

David sat with his feet on the windowsill, surfing the net on his laptop. He had just finished his homework for all his classes and he had no plans for the rest of the night.

"David! You ready to party?"

Jake's beaming face filled David's view.

"What the heck are you talking about?" David asked. Then, when Jake backed up slightly, he wrinkled his nose and added, "More importantly, what the heck are you _wearing_?"

The offending item was a chunky, rainbow-striped sweater with a black lightening bolt inlay on the chest.

"Oh, do you not like it? Is it too much? Should I change before the party?"

"What _party_? And yeah, you definitely need to change."

"You don't know about the party? Jordan's party?"

"Whose?"

"Jordan—remember, Bumlets's brother? Sophomore here?"

David thought, then said, "Squinty eyes? A bit bulkier than Bumlets? Used to have a lisp?"

"That's the one. Their parents are in Rome, so the whole school's invited to a party at their house. It's at nine and you should come. There'll be lots of expensive alcohol and easy chicks."

David looked slightly sick. "Um, I think I'll pass. Thanks, though."

"Aww..." Jake's entire face fell and he seemed so crushed that David just had to give in.

"Fine, whatever, but don't you _dare _try to hook me up with anyone."

---

Sarah checked the number on the door twice, then knocked firmly right below the gold '12.'

"Yeah?" A thin black boy wearing nothing but Elmo boxers stood in the doorway. From the depths of his dorm room came a complicated-sounding guitar riff.

"Uh, is this Nick Lopez's room?"

The boy laughed, then called over his shoulder, "Ites, there's a babe at the door for you."

The guitar riff stopped and moments later Itey was pushing past his roommate, muttering, "Thanks, Snapper," and shutting the door behind him.

Itey and Sarah stood awkwardly in the hallway. Itey waited, and finally Sarah said, "Listen, I heard there's a party at Bumlets's. You going?"

"With you?"

"...Sure. But just as friends."

"See you at your car at nine."

---

"Mr. Bloedschande, you're failing precalculus, and I've spoken to your other teachers as well—you're precariously perched on the edge of failing science, and _badly _failing Spanish. I suggest you get your act together. You were a straight-A student last year—what happened? Is there something you'd like to talk about?"

Dutchy sighed. "No, sir. I'll try harder, sir. May I go, sir?"

"You may go, but I strongly suggest you study instead of going to the party at Mr. Conte's tonight."

Dutchy opened the classroom door and, pausing before shutting it behind him, said, "I'll keep that in mind, sir."

Outside, Dutchy collapsed against the wall. Looking up at Specs, who'd bee waiting for him for moral support, he asked, "Would it be really rude to go to a party already stoned?"

---

**9:17.**

David groaned. He'd only been at the party for seventeen minutes? He could barely believe it.

David and Jake had been among the first guests to arrive, preceeded only by Bumlets's elitist friends and a gaggle of freshman (Boots, Crutchy, Slider, and Snipeshooter) standing around nervously. They were in the room with all the alcohol, eyeing it like they'd never seen it before and thought cops—or worse, _parents_—would materialize out of nowhere if they touched it. When they showed up, Jordan Conte appeared to give them a quick tour. David noticed that his eyes were just a little too bleary and his voice just a little too loud, and the sick feeling in the bottom of his stomach increased.

Now there was a steady stream of guests arriving—most of the freshman and sophomores were there, and a lot of the seniors, but almost none of David's friends had shown up yet.

David didn't know where Jake had gotten off to, and now he was stuck talking to a sophomore he didn't recognize, who was already buzzed.

---

"Come on, Blink, can't we just go in?" Skittery whined. He, Snitch, Mush, and Blink were crouching behind a huge bush on the edge of Bumlets's property, with their backs pressed against the fence seperating Bumlets's lawn from his neighbour's.

Blink's eyes were glued to his watch. "Just three more minutes, Skittery. We hafta be fashionably late."

Skittery groaned.

---

At 9:30, Jack was making out with Spot on a subway.

By 10, he was guzzling beer from the keg, occasionally adding a few shots of something harder.

By 10:30, he was totally smashed and talking to a noteably sober David.

By 11 he was naked in the bathroom, blowing someone he was too drunk to recognize.

By 11:30, he was puking in a potted plant.

And by 12, he was at the keg again.

---

**10:47.**

_Oh, fuck this, _David thought. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey and tossed back a shot. And another, and another, and another, and finally one more.

In the morning, the last thing David remembered was leading Jack to the bathroom with one hand while undoing his pants with the other.

---

_**BEEP BEEP BEEP.**_

Race rolled over and slammed a hand on the top of his alarm clock. He opened one eye, then blinked three times to clear the image. The angry red numbers burned **8:10 AM **into his aching retinas. His head throbbed and his mouth felt like cotton. He couldn't remember anything from the previous night, or where he was, or what day it was.

He pushed himself out of bed and was immediately overcome by a wave of dizzy nausea. Race flopped back on his bed and shut his eyes, concentrating on not throwing up. A few moments later, he opened his eyes and looked around. He was lying in his own bed—an unusual occurance; he suspected it meant Spot and Jack had been having sex last night—and Oscar Delancey was glaring at him from the other bed. Race tried for a smile, but the effort made him feel faint. His head hurt so badly he could barely breathe.

Oscar could easily tell that Racetrack was hungover, of course, so as much as he felt like bitching him out for forgetting to switch off his alarm the previous night, he just said, "If you puke in here, I'll fucking castrate you," and vowed to get back at him later.

Using all his energy, Race bent down and picked up a bottle of water and a bottle of Ibuprofen off his floor. He dumped about half the bottle of Ibuprofen into his hand and gingerly swallowed them. Half an hour later, Race's hangover had ebbed just enough for him to get up and stumble into the bathroom—although not enough that he didn't immediately throw up in the toilet.

After a shower, he felt slightly better, but he still had a worse hangover than he remembered ever experiencing before. He put on a clean t-shirt and boxers, then passed out again on his bed.

---

"Shit."

Sarah lay in her bed with a warm, damp washcloth over her forehead and a hell of a hangover—yet somehow she remembered the events of the previous night... At least, she remembered a locked bedroom at Bumlets's house, all of her clothes on the floor, and Itey... she tried to remember if they'd used a condom or not, but it was a lost cause.

"Shit."

---

Dutchy, Pie Eater, Snoddy, and Swifty sat on Swifty's bed, waiting for Bumlets to wake up. They knew he, like everyone else in the school except Swifty, would be sporting a violent hangover the size of Russia and fully planned to get him through it with as little pain as possible. (Admittedly, it was more in self-interest than anything else—an uncured, hungover Bumlets was a bitch to deal with.)

Dutchy snapped his gum. Pie Eater filed his nails. Swifty plucked his eyebrows. Snoddy reorganized the Hangover Helper box. All four waitied.

"Gahfuggendamn," Bumlets finally groaned. He didn't move or even open his eyes, just said through a thick, sour-tasting tongue, "I fuggen 'ade pahrdies..."

"Hungover?" Dutchy asked brightly.

"Fugged iv ahm nod..."

Pie Eater nudged Dutchy. "Be gentle, Dutch."

Dutchy stuck out his tongue. "You weren't gentle waking _me _up!"

"Fuggen shuddup..."

Bumlets rolled over and vomited loudly on the floor.

---

There had never been a more popular phrase than "What the fuck happened last night?" was that day.

**A/N: Myezzz... there's another chapter for you all. Not much of consequence happened in this one, but then, when does it ever? So... I had this chapter sitting around for ages, already written out (handwritten). I just finally got around to typing it. I already have about half of chapter 5 handwritten, as well. Something actually **_**happens **_**in that chapter! Although, actually, stuff did happen in this chapter. I'm wondering how much of it you, as readers, will notice, as you don't have the same information about the story as I do.**


	5. Cake and Sodomy

Ch

**Disclaimer: **Don't own The Human Genome, If You Were Gay, or Newsies.

**Ch. 5—Cake and Sodomy**

Skittery pounded on the door. He always woke Mush and Blink on weekday mornings, though he had missed Monday to recovering from his hangover from Friday (STILL). When neither Kid Blink nor Mush answered the door, Skittery deftly jimmied the lock and let himself in. To his surprise, both Blink and Mush where already up and about. Mush was standing in front of the mirror on their wall, exfoliating his face, and Blink was in the corner, wrapped in a towel around his waist.

"Morning, Skitts," Mush greeted.

"Don't look, Skittery, I'm getting naked," was Blink's 'hello.'

Skittery said, "Guys, guess what today is!"

"Judging by the fact that Snitch isn't with you, I'd say Wednesday."

"Yeah," Skittery allowed, "but there's more to it than that. It's October 21st—his _birthday_!"

Blink walked over, dressed in dark wash jeans and a forest green button-down. "Good thing I got a present for him a while ago, then. I wonder where it went..."

Mush bit his lip. "It wasn't those pink fuzzy handcuffs we used last week, was it? Or the raspberry-cream Heightening Sensations lube we finished off on Sunday?"

"No, and no," Blink said. "I got those for us. I got him..." After trailing off, Blink glanced at Skittery. "Well, I want it to be a surprise for _both_ of them. But it's probably in my sex drawer."

Kid Blink walked over to his dresser and yanked open the bottom drawer. In spite of himself, Skittery leaned over and looked in—he'd never actually seen his friend's sex drawer. The contents included several gay porn DVDs and magazines, a few pairs of handcuffs, bondage straps, chains, condoms (though Blink and Mush never used them), a vibrating cock ring, a dildo, and several bottles of lube.

Skittery felt faintly sick.

--

At 8:32, David rushed out of his dorm, sprinting towards his first class at full speed. He was late. As he neared the classroom, though, he saw everyone milling around outside and no sign of the teacher.

Some would call it crazy or mean that his first thought was of Sarah—specifically, _What's she done this time?_—but David just knew his sister's style _very _well. Following his hunch, he sought her out, playing solitaire in the dorm commons.

"Sarah, what'd you do?"

Sarah smirked, then went so far as to let out a short laugh. "You know the principal's email here is easier to hack than Mom's?" 

"_What_ did you _do_?"

"Oh, nothing much. Not on par with some of my old tricks... Just all the teachers are currently on their way to a surprise teachers' convention in frickin' _Chicago_. It should take them a few days to sort this one out."

David stared at his sister's beaming face for a second and then began to laugh. And laugh. And laugh.

--

"I can't _believe_ this... this fucking _discrepancy _of the school's! My parents are paying for me to get a fucking education, and they just _call off class _because the teachers have fucking _disappeared_... UNTIL. FURTHER. FUCKING. NOTICE!" Bumlets paced the length of his dorm room angrily, running his hands through his hair.

Dutchy rolled his eyes. "Bum, man, it's not like your parents are hurting for money." He tapped his thumbs on his knees, feeling jittery. "They can go to Rome for a month with the money they carry in their fucking wallets—what's a few days of them paying for an education you're not getting?"

Bumlets shot Dutchy a withering look. "Dutchy, we can't all fail out of life."

The silence in the room was thick, everyone waiting for Dutchy's next move.

At first, Dutchy didn't react. Then, no expression on his face save for a slight twitch next to his right eye, he stood up and walked out.

"Shit, Bumlets," Snoddy said. Something in him wanted to follow Dutchy, but assuming he knew Dutchy as well as he thought he did, he was probably going to go sulk with Specs and... do whatever it is they did. Snoddy hoped that "whatever it was they did" involved nothing of a sexual nature—the thought of Specs naked made him nauseous. Besides, at this point, following Dutchy would probably be akin to a death wish.

"He deserved it," Bumlets insisted.

--

_Clickclickclickclickclick._

_Schfffffflurp._

_Clickclickclickclickclick._

_Tssssssss._

_Schfffffflurp._

_Clickclickclickclickclick._

_Wshhhhhhhh._

"Double latte, hurry it up."

Harsh, loud voices.

Racetrack sat leaning back in a chair at his café. As soon as they heard there were to be no classes, Spot and Jack started going at it again, so Race had made his escape to his usual sanctuary. For some reason that he couldn't quite put a finger on, seeing Spot and Jack make out (or do anything else) had become nearly unbearable lately, so he'd found himself at his café more and more.

Something in his brain was disconnected today—he just sat sipping a coffee and eating some pastry he didn't remember ordering, and certainly didn't intend to pay for, and listened to the sounds of life continuing around him. His eyes couldn't seem to catch up with everything, although they caught an occasional image, like David walking in the door.

David walking in the door.

..._David _walking in the door?

"DAVE." Race's mouth moved and the word came out, but he wasn't sure where it had come from.

"Oh, hey Racetrack." David paused by his table. "Watcha doing?"

Race tried to think about the question and come up with an answer, but his mouth barked, "Coffee," before his mind could even comprehend the words.

David smiled and started to say something, but Racetrack's mouth was on a roll. "David, hey, d'you know anything about why we don't have classes? I heard you would."

Now David laughed. Race noted something faintly angry and hysterical in the laugh. "My sister... she does some crazy shit. She got all the teachers sent off to Chicago for a fake teachers' convention. The principal has no idea where they all are."

Race's mind was still stuck on the word 'sister,' trying to remember what it meant, when his mouth said, "Sit down."

David obliged and, hailing a waitress, asked, "Where're Spot and Jack?"

Scrunching his brow, Racetrack desperately tried to hunt down the identity of this 'Jack' person—he remembered Spot—skinny and hot (Race did _not _just think that) and gay. "Sex," he said. He still wondered what a 'Jack' was.

Without much of a reaction, David asked in reply, "Do they do that as much as it seems like?"

Didn't think, didn't need to, mouth moved, "Yup."

David nodded. "You're not really awake yet," he observed.

Race grinned and held up his mug. "Coffee. Need more."

The two sat in silence for a few minutes as Racetrack guzzled down the rest of his mug with the triumphant, desperate air of a drunk with someone else's ale. Then he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and blurted, "I need more."

"Complete sentences," David joked, "Good job!"

"Fuck you. Waitress?"

"Coming," David assured him. "So how've you been?"

Racetrack frowned, trying to remember what 'coming' meant outside of sex, then saw the ginger-haired woman stop by their table and pour more coffee into his mug. Silence resumed.

"Um..." David's eyes darted to the tall man sitting a table over. "So what's the deal with Jack and Spot?"

Now Racetrack remembered Jack—sandy-haired, looked like he would be warm to cuddle next to, taller than he or Spot. Race shrugged and blurted, "Horny," into his mug.

"So they _are_, like... gay?"

A nod. "Why?"

"No... reason." David blushed, thinking of his dream the other night about Jack.

Race was mostly functioning now, so he set down his mug and said, "Pretty much anybody can fuck Spot. Jack's a bit more emotional. Which one?"

"What?"

"Which do you want?"

David was startled by Race's blunt manner. "Is it that obvious?"

"Nope, just guessing."

"Damn it." David sipped his coffee and glanced again at the tall man. "So, uh, are either one... okay, screw it, how does one, y'know, tempt Jack?"

Race took a long gulp of his coffee. "Mostly, you have lots of sex with him and eventually he'll start wanting more. He already tried to get Spot to date him." It was probably just his imagination, but David thought Race sounded a little jealous.

With _another _shifty glance at the tall man, David asked, "Is there any other way to do it?"

There was a long, quiet pause, then Racetrack snickered. "Virgin."

"So?"

Race shook his head. "You could always try leading him on a little, then rejecting him. Jack can't just let something go like that."

"Okay, but how do I get on his radar in the first place?"

A shrug. "You'll have to figure that out for yourself."

--

Jake tapped his fingers edgily on his thighs and tapped his feet on his bed in a sporadic rhythm. His phone was sitting in a Position of Ultimate Importance—between his feet. His knees were spread so he could see the phone if it rang.

He was dressed in a plain gray button-down shirt and nice jeans. A bouquet of flowers sat in water on his bedside table, and a guide to the top seventeen most romantic restaurants in the area rested on the sheets next to him.

"D'you think she'll call soon, David?"

David sighed and flipped a page in The Human Genome, which he had picked up immediately upon his return to the dorm and not set down since. "I don't know, Jake. It's only been fifteen minutes since you asked her to call you."

The room resumed silence.

Ten minutes later, a tinny rendition of If You Were Gay echoed through the room. An excited Jake flipped open his phone. "Amanda?... Yeah, I wanted to take you out for lunch and a—...Yeah, like a boyfriend, I—...What?... Oh... No, I underst—...Of course not, I wouldn't—... Well, maybe tomorrow?... Oh, I see... So not tomorrow. How about—... Oh. Never? At all?... Oh... No, I'm fine... Yeah... No, doesn't matter... Okay... Yep, goodbye."

Jake snapped his phone shut. There was a beat of eerie stillness, then he threw the restaurant guide at the mirror on the wall. He yanked the flowers from the water, shook them off, and pulled out a lighter. David's eyes widened.

Stems with heads of dancing fire fluttering from a high window to a broken yell of "BITCH!" is an interesting sight.

David looked at Jake. "She said no?"

"Yeah. Fucking bitch."

The human genome had never been more interesting.

--

Skittery, Snitch, Kid Blink, and Mush sat cross-legged in a circle on Skittery's floor. The lights were off, the only light coming from sunlight filtering in the window, and a four-layer chocolate cake between them (and a few bags of barbecue chips by Skittery). There were seventeen mismatched candles burning in the cake.

"Make a wish, babe," Skittery said through a mouthful of chips.

Snitch screwed up his eyes, muttered something under his breath, and beamed.

"Blow 'em out!" Mush was on his knees now, clapping. He _loved _birthdays.

From under the bed behind him, Snitch whipped out a small travel hairdryer and carefully extinguished every candle but one. "See, Skittsy? I've got one boyfriend." He leaned over and planted a kiss on Skittery's mouth, barbecue flavoring transferring from Skittery's lips to his own, and pulled the candle from the cake. "I refuse to blow out this boyfriend."

"What? You refuse to blow me?"

Snitch looked confused, then laughed. "Let me rephrase that—I refuse to _extinguish _this boyfriend."

Skittery and Snitch beamed lovingly at each other, so Blink took charge. "Okay, we don't have plates or forks or anything because Mush and I got distracted on the way to the store, so just... dig in with your hands or mouths, or anything you can."

Snitch face planted in the cake.

--

Sarah clicked open her email and glanced over the subject lines, thinking, _spam, spam, spammity, spam _as she deleted the unimportant ones. Then she double-clicked on the one from her boyfriend, titled "I gotta tell you."

_**To: Sarah **_

_**From: Alex **_

_**Subj: I gotta tell you**_

_Sarah—_

_How's school treating you? Found any good friends or stud muffin guys? And how's David doing? I know he was never really the popular one._

_Um... okay, I have NO idea how to tell you this. But... er, don't get mad, babe, okay? I swear I love you and this is one of the hardest emails I've ever written._

_Gretchen says I should get straight to the point, so I guess I will._

_We're dating. Gretchen and I. I'm sorry. I really, genuinely am. What you and I had was amazing while it lasted. I've never had a more devoted girlfriend than you. But the thing is I'm just not quite ready—y'know, not mature enough—to have a long-distance relationship. I'm too into instant gratification. Besides, you're kind of young for me. I mean, my 22__nd__ birthday's next weekend and you're only 18._

_You deserve better than me, Sarah. Find yourself a nice, doting boy closer to your age and give him your all. I'm not worth you. Don't cry over me. You'd do best just to move and forget about me._

_Love, Alex._

Sarah blinked. She wasn't sad, and she certainly wasn't surprised. Very, very angry, but nothing more than that. She slammed shut her laptop and slowly, deliberately walked out her door. Barely two minutes later, her knuckles rapped three loud, clear knocks beneath the familiar golden twelve.

"Yeah?" It was Itey, wearing nothing but his monkey boxers.

"Be my boyfriend or I'll kick you in the nuts," Sarah said without pretense.

"Um." Itey looked shocked. "Okay?"

Sarah kissed him firmly on the lips.

--

"Spot. _Spot_. ...Spot, are you listening to me?" Jack sat cross-legged on Spot's bed, no pants on, leaning on the wall.

Spot snapped his gum and said, "No."

"Well, maybe you should—"

"Jack, shut up." Spot glared, meeting Jack's gaze full-on for the first time in a few days.

There was silence for a few minutes, then: "Spot, listen to me."

"Jack, SHUT. UP. I'm _fucking _serious."

Jack shut his eyes and leaned his head back on the wall. "Why?"

"I'm sick of this—it's always 'Spot, Spot, Spot! Me, me, me!' Just fucking—stop being so clingy and needy all the time, God damn it!"

"Fine. You know what?" Jack's head shot back into position and his eyes opened. "If you can't accept me for who I—"

"Christ, Jack, you sound like a fucking thirteen-year-old girl!"

Jack rolled his eyes and pulled on his boxers. "Ugh, fuck this. Fuck _you_. I'm—just—ugh! Fuck!"

"Nice, Kelly. Get the _fuck_ out of my room."

Jack grunted and punched the wall. "Fucking—it's my room, too!"

"Just. Get. Out."

With what he hoped was a dignified glare, Jack pulled on a pair of pants and left.

--

Jack huffed aimlessly down the hallways of his dorm, hoping to walk out his anger or find somewhere else to go. He was just turning back to go give Spot a piece of his mind when he saw a familiar figure walking towards him down the hall. "David!"

David stopped when he reached Jack. "Heya."

"Dave—uh, wanna grab some dinner with me and, like... catch up on stuff?"

Squinting up at Jack, David shrugged. "Sure. I just gotta—uh, when?" He remembered Race's advice. "I'd love to, thought. Just—um, yeah, when?"

"Tomorrow at..." Jack bit his lip. "Six?"

_Keep it in your pants, Dave, don't let him make you a horny idiot. _ "That—yeah, that'd be great."

Jack grinned. "Good—meet me... Oh, fuck, I'll just come to your room at six. You're with Jake, right? I mean—you room with him?"

"Yeah." David smiled a little. "Well, I gotta go."

--

Racetrack would be at his café, Spot was sure. At least, he really hoped so after taking half an hour to get there. He pushed open the front door and instantly spotted the Irish-Italian sipping coffee at a table smack-dab in the middle of the room. Spot walked over and, with no introduction, plopped down in the chair opposite Race. When Race, wrapped up in the newspaper he was reading, didn't notice him, Spot rapped his knuckles on the table. Racetrack jumped.

"Oh—hey, Spot. Where's Jack?" Race's eyes traveled over the air behind Spot, then back.

"Fucked if I know," Spot said.

Race took a large gulp of coffee. "You get in a fight or something?"

"Yeah. Whatever, he's a faggot."

Trying not to smirk, Racetrack said, "So're you, Spot."

"Ugh, you know what I mean."

"Yeah..." Racetrack looked at Spot, who sat tapping his hands on the tabletop. His eyes darted around the café enough that Race wondered if he was afraid to be seen there or something.

"How the hell do you sleep if you drink all this coffee all the time?"

Race shrugged, but made no move to answer.

"Race?" Suddenly, Spot's eyes snapped to Race's own, burrowing into his skull with frightening intensity.

"Yeah?"

"Are you gay?"

"What?!" Race glanced around the room and leaned forward. "Of—of _course _not!"

Spot narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. He simply resumed glancing around the room.

"Why do you ask?"

Brutally honest, as always, Spot answered, "I'm horny and you seem pretty gay sometimes. Honestly I don't give a damn unless it means you'll blow me."

Race couldn't tell why he felt a little disappointed. "There's a bathroom, go jack off."

"Nah." Spot picked up Racetrack's almost empty coffee and sloshed the dregs around in the bottom of the mug, then drank deeply so it was empty. "God," he said as he slammed the cup back on the table, "what do you _do _when you're here all this time?"

"Not much," admitted Race. "I guess I read a lot more now, but mostly I just... y'know, sit around and try not to think about you and Jack."

Spot had been chewing his thumbnail and now spat a bit out into his napkin. "What, that bother you?"

"Um, yeah, a bit."

"You some kind of homophobe?" Spot's back was ramrod straight and his hands clenched on the table.

Race held his palms up in a surrender position. "No, no—it's just... ahhh, I'm not quite sure."

"Right." Spot pulled out a ten dollar note and dropped it on the table. "C'mon, let's get out of here before your hair turns gray. You're getting fucking antisocial."

The two burst out of the door into the crisp night. Spot, shivering a little for lack of a jacket, glanced both ways down the sidewalk. Each side was a strip of neon, cement, and glass. He clearly had no idea what was where after dark.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Racetrack muttered. He grabbed Spot's hand, but on contact jumped back. He cleared his throat and murmured, "Right, well. C'mon."

With Racetrack slightly in the lead and Spot hurrying to stay a half-step behind, the boys walked. They kept walking for upwards of fifteen minutes, when Spot finally asked, "Where the hell are we going?"

Race glanced over his shoulder. "Oh, this place I know... we're almost there, don't worry."

Spot smiled slightly and shook his head. "What a guy," he said to himself under his breath as he sped up to fall into step with Racetrack. "Seriously, where are we _going_?"

Glancing again at Spot, Racetrack just gave an aggravating smile. "Seriously, you'll find _out_! Um... you're not allowed to think it's lame, by the way."

Spot slid his eyes over to look at Racetrack. There didn't appear to be any real apprehension behind his statement, so Spot said, "Oh, _great_. We're going somewhere you think I'll think is lame?" Racetrack just continued to smile, and Spot thought, _He's kind of hot._

For a few silent minutes, Spot and Race continued to walk at a not-quite-leisurely pace down the crowded sidewalks of Manhattan. Every now and then Race would duck through and opening between two people and Spot would have to grab his forearm or elbow in order not to lose him. Suddenly, Race stuck his hand out in front of Spot. Pointing to the right, he murmured, "We're here," and ducked off the sidewalk into an alley. Spot followed him, putting aside his misgivings. There seemed to be nothing special about this alley, save for the fact that it was tiny—only a little wider than Spot's shoulders.

Although he had claimed this was the place, Racetrack was now walking faster than ever towards an invisible goal. Still, Spot followed him. When he looked behind him and saw how far down the dank, smelly alley he had come, Spot whispered, "This had better be good." And when he turned back around, Racetrack was gone.

He didn't want to admit it, but Spot panicked a little. He had no idea whatsoever how he had gotten to this alley, and now that the slight euphoria he had had in Racetrack's presence had crashed, Spot felt like he was going to start hyperventilating. He kicked a small pile of trash and swore loudly.

"Spot!" The voice, hushed yet projected, came from high above.

"What the fuck!" Spot yelped. His head shot up, eyes searching for the source of the voice.

"Shhh! I'm up here!"

Then Spot located Racetrack's face peering down at him from the roof of the old brick building, only three stories high or so. "How the fuck did you get up there?"

"Shh! There's bricks sticking out. Climb them, and for God's sake, be QUIET!"

Spot flipped Race off, then proceeded to feel the wall to locate the bricks sticking out. When he finally did, he pulled himself up by a handhold and slowly settled his weight on the lowest brick. He continued in this fashion until he felt Race's hand grasp his and begin to pull. With minimal help, Spot pulled himself up onto the roof. He opened his mouth to speak, but Racetrack clamped a hand over it.

"We're on top of a really old recording studio," Racetrack explained quietly. "it's empty right now, but the buildings on either side aren't, and they're taller, so if anyone chooses to look out the window and sees us, we're in deep shit. So walk quietly, talk quietly, but—don't restrain yourself." Race wasn't quite sure what he meant with the last sentence. Spot didn't even seem to notice. He just licked Racetrack's palm, then started nibbling it until Race took it away.

"Fine," he replied, his voice pitched for Racetrack's ears only, "but I wanna know something."

"Yeah?"

"How the fuck did you get up here so fast?"

Racetrack laughed. "I'm magic," he teased, walking carefully over to the corner near the street. "C'mere."

Spot clapped his hands on his knees and pushed himself to standing. He ambled over to Race's side, hands once again deep in his pockets, and looked down. People scuttled along the sides of the roads, and cars and taxis lit up the night. The air around Spot had an electricity and energy exclusive to night.

"Trippy," he commented.

Racetrack snorted. "Trippy? Seriously, Spot, did you just describe that as _trippy_?"

"Shut up."

"Oooh, feisty!" Race held up an arm to block the light punch coming his way and laughed.

Spot felt jittery just below his belly button. "Yeah, I am—doesn't it turn you on?"

Racetrack opened his mouth to answer, but a window one building over opened and a man yelled, "Hey, kids! Clear out of there, you're breaking the law!"

Without thinking, Spot shouted, "What're you gonna do about it, big boy?"

The man answered, "Well, I'm supposed to be off duty, but nobody ever fired an officer for arresting after his shift!"

Race and Spot shared a look, eyes wide, deer-in-headlights expression firmly in place. Spot told Race, "Oh. Shit," to which Race replied, "Yeah."

Then, simultaneously, the boys looked back at the window. It was still open, but Spot could see the cop pulling on a jacket and getting ready to walk out of his apartment. With an uncharacteristic squealing laugh, Spot said, "Shit! Shit! Shit, Race! We gotta run!"

With that, Spot and Race began nervously laughing as they crouch-ran back to the edge of the roof with the impromptu stairs. Racetrack went first, scaling down the wall with expert precision and speed. Spot, however, was even slower than the first time, due to the nervous giggles escaping his throat against his will. When he finally hopped off the last brick and collapsed laughing against an equally breathless Racetrack, the policeman was rounding the corner, already jogging.

"Oh, shit!"

Racetrack grabbed Spot's hand, not thinking, and began to drag him farther down the seemingly endless alley. Behind them, the officer's footfalls sped up to match. He breathed hard and grunted, contrsating will with their breathless gasps and uncontrollable cackling.

Time was irrelevant—Spot and Race ran hand in hand, laughing harder than either ever had, fueled almost as much by simple adrenaline and a good mood as by the po following them. Neither had any idea how long they had been running or how far they had come when they started to lose him. Once Race realised that the cop was no longer even in the same street as them, he pulled Spot out of the intricate maze of alleys they had been following and into the crowded street. Still clutching each others' hands and giggling, the boys stumbled into a random building—an indie music store, as it happened.

Race collapsed against the wall just inside the door, breath coming in hooting spurts, ripping through his body. "Oh... my God!"

"Holy shit!" Spot laughed. "Holy shit!"

Suddenly, both boys abruptly became silent and looked at their hands, still intertwined. Neither spoke—they barely breathed. Racetrack could feel his face, red already from exertion, turn a probably unflattering shade of purple. Spot was slightly apathetic. He didn't mind clutching Racetrack's hand ad laughing, having fun with a boy almost like a normal person. He looked up from their hands to Race's face, burning, eyes fixated on their fingers. Spot, for once, did what seemed like the right thing to do. He leaned in and kissed Racetrack.

**A/N: Ho-ly crap. This chapter is 4,419 words long, not counting this Author's Note. That's 24 pages handwritten (and I almost always handwrite my chapters first). That's not long for some people, but for me it's crazy-long. The longest thing I've ever written was 8,000-something words long, and I didn't write that all in one go, as I did this. I wrote that over the course of a month or more. The chapter I thought was superlong last time (chapter 3 of this fic)? It was only 2,900-something. I spell-checked it, but otherwise it's unbeta'd, so I'm sorry if there are any typos. I have more to say, really, but my wrists are killing me from typing this, so I'm gonna go. Till next time! -Selanfene **


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